Tuesday, 8 April 2014

My search for a roommate was fraught with peril...

Hi everyone. Jane here again. Happy Hump Day! I've included part of the story of when I tried to find a roommate in Winterville. Buckle your seat belts, because it's a wild ride! 

I needed to find a roommate, too. I wasn’t sure what the future held, but the idea of having someone there to split the bills was a tempting one. My goal was to find some professional, neat, normal-enough person to share my space. Just like in a big or mid-sized city where professional people live and work, surely in all of Winterville I could find someone to rent my extra room, I thought. 
First, I put an ad on a website that catered to people looking for places to live, and people advertising places to live.  Then, the emails started rolling in.
“Diva, I have never seen anything like this,” I told her as we chatted on the phone.  Her move to California was complete, and we were three time zones apart. Usually we’d talk in the evenings when she was done with school for the day and I was getting ready for bed.
“Have you found any takers yet?” she asked.
“There were a few students who wanted to do chores in exchange for free rent.”
“What?” she asked. “Man, if that scam worked, our college years would have been so much easier!”
“Yeah, I’ve never heard of such a thing. And then there was this woman who said she was willing to house-sit for me.”
“But you live there.”
“Right, I know. So I explained that to her and she said she’d still be willing to do it, and that she wouldn’t even charge me.”
“For letting you live there for free?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
“And that doesn’t even cover the old guys, Diva. These old men write to me.”
“You advertised for a female roommate, didn’t you? In the ad, I mean.”
“Apparently that means nothing to them. I guess they want to wear me down so I’ll allow it. They seem to all be working together.”
“Seriously, Jane. Why go through the trouble of going out to bars and hitting on women half your age when you can talk one into letting you live in her house? Look for one desperate enough and the plan just might work!”
“I know, right. Did I ever tell you about The Professor?” I asked. “Oh, you are going to laugh!”
“What? I don’t think you did.”
“This one guy included a picture with his reply.  He was flexing his biceps. I kid you not. Wearing a muscle shirt. Big white handlebar mustache. Must have been 60 years old!”
“Ewwww,” Diva said. “Well, I mean, unless you like that sort of attention. What did you write back to him? ‘Where have you been all my life, you raging bull of a studmuffin?’ Because that would set the tone for a great flirtation.”

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